


R+E: Don't Touch The Other Boys

by BatBoyBlog



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fear, HIV/AIDS, Homophobia, Horror, Scary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-16 03:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatBoyBlog/pseuds/BatBoyBlog
Summary: I had a scene come to me of how Richie carving the R+ at the Kissing Bridge might happen so I figured I might as well write it out.





	R+E: Don't Touch The Other Boys

“I take my leave of you my loooord!” Richie warbled in what only he thought of as a British accent. He took a deep bow as Bill Denbrough rolled his eyes. Bill stuck out his hand “S-s-see you t-t-to-tomorrow Richie?” Richie threw open his arms and took a half step in grinning for a hug. That’s when the voice in his head, the one that sounded like TV preacher who wore too much make-up and was always on the TV at Richie’s grandmother’s house, spoke up. “Don’t touch the other boys Richie, don’t or they’ll know your secret”. Richie felt the smile on his face freeze, his arm swung inward and he slapped palms with Bill. 

“Does he know?” Richie wondered as he looked Bill over. “Yeah Big Bill, you’ll see me tomorrow, can’t get rid of the old trashmouth that easy!” he said out loud, still forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Bill rolled his eyes again “G-get l-l-lost Tozier” Richie smiled for this time and blew a raspberry. He walked backward and said “you’re just jealous I’m” Richie tried to do a heel turn and almost fell over, managed to right himself and started to sing horribly out of tone “singing in the raaaainnnn!” Richie smiled to himself as he heard Bill’s fading laughter. Always leave ‘em laughing, because then they might want to see you again.

If any of Richie Tozier’s friends could have seen him as he wondered into the Kissing Bridge they wouldn’t have recognized him. His friends thought that there was never a time that Richie wasn’t talking or moving. His teachers often thought he was stupid or thoughtless, no matter how many good report cards he earned. This thoughtful boy looking up at the ceiling and walls of the Bridge would have been a stranger to everyone who thought they knew Richie Tozier. 

The Kissing Bridge and its innumerable initials had always been fascinating to Richie. It was like the whole story of the town of Derry was written out on it’s walls, generation after generation of crushes and lovers carved in the soft wood of the bridge. Though he’d never asked Richie knew without a doubt his own parents “W+M” was somewhere in here. Richie’s eyes were drawn to the beam over the exit of the bridge. He didn’t want to look at it, this other side of Derry, the hate who’s history was also written on the walls of the bridge. “AIDS! God’s judgement on Fags!” read the black spray paint. It’d been there for nearly a year and no one have tried to remove it or cover it up. Every time Richie walked through the bridge he promised himself he wouldn’t read it again, but he always did.

Richie exited out into the sunlight and made his way to the shoulder of the road. The wooden guard rails leading into the bridge were newer only about ten years old. They weren’t as covered in initials as the inside of the bridge. When he was a kid Richie used to imagine carving his initials into the bridge, who the other letter was going to be never seemed all that important. Richie eyed a large blank section of the guard rail. He didn’t want to carve over someone else’s work, he imagined that was very bad luck. He briefly thought about that movie where the family had built their house on top of an Indian burial ground. He thought about long broken up high school sweet hearts popping out of his backyard to get revenge for him putting his name over theirs.

Richie pulled out his pocket knife and carefully unfolded the blade. Slowly and carefully Richie carved an R into the wood. He stopped and looked at it a long moment, before adding the + next to it. He almost walked away leaving it unfinished, maybe to be filled in at some future date, maybe to be left blank forever. Richie started running through girl’s names that started with E. “Elizabeth” he whispered to himself. There wasn’t an Elizabeth in his class, but there was a girl named Liz in his grade. If anyone came along while he was carving the E, he could always claim it was for Liz, it seemed plausible enough to cover the truth. 

Richie was extra careful with the E, his tongue sticking between his teeth he carved the downward line, then the first cross line, second, third. Richie closed his knife and stepped back to look at his work. He felt an odd mix of happiness and crushing sadness. It was nice to see his little sign, proof carved into the record of Derry of his crush. It also burned because it was a lie, the other person didn’t know, hadn’t been here, wouldn’t ever feel the same way. Richie let out a sigh and was about to turn toward home when he felt it, a shift in the wind, it started blowing past him and into the bridge. 

Richie turned his head slowly toward the bridge like in a dream. The inside of the bridge was filled with hundreds, thousands of red balloons. From the ceiling of the covered bridge down to the road below was filled with the balloons, gently rubbing together their white strings twisting and moving like snakes. Standing in front of the balloon wall, in the middle of the road was a man Richie recognized at once. How could he not? He saw him nearly every night after all.

It was the model from the underwear ad in a copy of the Sears catalog Richie had so carefully fished out of the trash and hidden in his sock drawer. The man was standing in the same pose he had in the ad. His well muscled legs in a wide stance, six pack abs over his white brief, head thrown back like he was soaking up summer sun, hands behind his neck showing up two flexing beefy arms. Slowly the figure lowered his head and looked at Richie with an inviting smile and bright blue eyes, or were they sliver? When he spoke his voice was rough just the way Richie had always imagined, though he’d never imagined him saying “Don’t touch the other boys Richie, don’t or they’ll know your secret”. 

The shock caused Richie to take a half step backward and the man took a slow half step forward. Then Richie saw it, right where the man’s chiseled jawline met his muscular neck, a purple bruised looking circle. Richie’s eyes bulged out, he felt like Eddie unable to get a full breath of air. The man took another slow half step and Richie saw another purple lesion just below his ribs. Every slow step the man took toward Richie another lesion appeared somewhere on his skin. He was transforming in other ways as well, every step he became thinner, losing muscles, his skin became gray and seemed to hang off him, his lips were dry and cracked, his blonde hair lost its shine and thinned. His face was the true horror, dark shadows formed under his sinking eyes, his cheek bones rose and pressed against his skin which looked papery and thin. 

By the time and man was with-in arms reach of Richie he was little more than a skeleton, covered all over with lurid purple bruises, the brifts turned yellowy and hanging off jutting hip bones. “Don’t touch the other boys Richie” The half dead thing repeated its voice still raspy but now breathless and weak. “Or you’ll end up like me” it croaked reaching one boney hand out to grab Richie. Richie ran, Richie ran all the way home and locked his bedroom door when he got there. He only looked back once in his headlong run for home, and when he did, the half dead man was gone and in place was a clown, in a dirty white clown suit with red pom-poms down the front a massive crown of red hair sticking out of its white painted head. The Clown was laughing.


End file.
